Emrael led ten thousand of his men across the bridge to Forangerr, the small town on the Iraean foot of the bridge, only a few miles west of Whitehall. Only one battalion was mounted, while the other nine were infantry. Some men had been outfitted with traditional Iraean gear: teardrop shields, long spears, and heavy swords. Others had the circular shields from the Sagmyn or Barros Legion, or square shields stolen from the Barros Legion, along with the shorter swords and spears favored in the southern Provinces.
He had left another ten thousand to hold Gadford and sent five thousand back to reinforce the pass between the Sagmyn and Barros provinces. He would have liked to take more with him for the coming campaign in Iraea, but he could not risk losing any of the territory he already held.
His friends rode at his side, or close behind. Jaina, Timan, Elle, Halrec, and Toravin—all in armor save Elle. As they left the bridge behind and turned east on the road that led to Whitehall, Emrael noticed groups of tents pitched in the woods to the north of the road, away from the river. Single tents and small clusters soon became canvas-and-sackcloth villages.
Emrael turned to Toravin. “What in Glory’s name is this?”
“The cost of war, Ire.” Toravin’s lips twisted into his ever-ready sardonic smile. “The Watchers have attacked Whitehall several times, or hadn’t you heard? Many of the inhabitants of the upper city have fled rather than risk being caught in the fighting. The Barros Legion has stopped the riffraff from crossing to their side of the river, so they stay here. Nowhere else to go.”
Emrael had read Dorae’s letters detailing the retaliatory attacks from the Watchers, but busy as he had been with problems of his own, hadn’t fully understood the dire nature of the situation for the inhabitants of Whitehall. “Don’t they have anywhere safer to go here in Iraea? They’ll starve or freeze this winter if they stay here.”
Toravin actually laughed. “You think the nobles are going to invite these lot to their Holdings? They’ve already got more people than they can support on their lands, what with the reparation taxes and the Provincial order outlawing clearing any more land. They’re not risking the Provinces’ displeasure to help these.”
“Even now that the Watchers have been thrown out of the Norta Holding? None have moved to help Dorae?”
“They’ve been thrown out of Whitehall, Ire. The Watchers and Corrande garrisons have been bolstered elsewhere. Whitehall could be flanked, and Absent Gods know that won’t go well for us. If any other Iraean Lords Holder are going to join us, it’ll be after we show them we can win more than one city.”
Emrael was quiet for a long moment. Unbidden, the memory of his father’s eyes, his intense green-eyed stare, flashed in his mind. Janrael had always wanted to do something about the Iraeans’ subjugation to the Provinces, and now Emrael had the chance to act where his father had not.
Elle and Halrec were also looking around at all of the displaced citizens, concern and outrage on their faces. Jaina and Timan saw them, scanned them for possible threats, but no emotion showed on their faces.
He turned back to Toravin. “We’ve got to move quickly, then. If we push the Watchers out of another Holding, the Lord Holder may be forced to join us whether he wants to or not. Hopefully the others follow suit. But we’re doing something for these people, Tor, and soon. They can’t live like this. We will help them, and they can help us.”
Toravin nodded and smiled, a broad true smile that bared all of his teeth. “Aye. That’s a plan I’d fight for. The Lords Holder won’t welcome a fight on their land, however. Some might even side with the Watchers.”
Whitehall looked more like one of the abandoned ruins from the War of Unification than a living city. Emrael could hardly believe that this was the same place he had left just a few short months before. Entire swaths had been burned to nothing, and pathetic tent villages had been erected in the cleared ashes and wreckage.
The city was still obviously in Dorae’s control, however, with hundreds of armored Norta men visible all along the stone ramparts of the walls that guarded the mountain pass to Corrande, and around Whitehall itself. The gate that barred the pass had been reinforced many times over with heavy timbers and steel sheets. Huge blocks of granite had been piled behind the gate doors so they could no longer be forced open. Large stones and cauldrons perched on the walls above the gates, ready to crush or scald those below. They had obviously seen heavy fighting, and recently, judging by the bandages visible on many of the soldiers.
Not all was going poorly in the city, however. Many buildings were being reconstructed, and everyone Emrael saw looked relatively clean and well-fed. Fully charged infusori coils blazed blue at every guard post and at the corner of every major avenue. He had never seen such an opulent lighting display, not even in Sagmyn, famous for the wealth of the merchants who made their homes there. Surely Dorae would be better off selling that infusori to fund his defense efforts.
Dorae’s soldiers met them at the low half-wall that surrounded the city proper. They watched Emrael and his ten thousand with flat stares, and were somewhat curt when they spoke at all but allowed them into the city and to Whitehall without issue.
The Lord of Whitehall himself met them in the square in front of the keep, a coterie of soldiers and various advisors close behind him. Many looked to be either drunk, hungover, or both.
“Welcome!” Dorae shouted, boisterous and with the customary wild look in his eyes. More grey streaked his dark, shoulder-length hair than the last time Emrael had seen him. He looked tired, but strong. Hard. “I only have room for about a hundred of you scoundrels in the keep, the rest will have to arrange their own lodging.” He swept his hand grandly, gesturing at the war-ravaged city. “Luckily, we have plenty of vacancies at the moment. Can’t imagine why.”
Emrael exchanged a carefully amused look with Toravin while Dorae cackled. The man took some getting used to.
“We’ll set our men up somewhere close to the keep, if that’s all right, and Halrec will coordinate with your commanders. Our Ire Legionmen can help rebuild while we’re here, and we’ll put two of our battalions on the wall at any given time. It looks like you could use the help.”
Dorae stopped smiling and tilted his head to look at Emrael sideways. “Ire men, are they now? I seem to remember most of those men coming from my Hold lands. Most of the weapons and armor, too.”
“Why do you think we came back to help you?” Emrael asked, expression serious. He stepped close to the Lord of Whitehall. “I will remember what you’ve done and will pay you back with interest. But this war is far from over, and bigger than Whitehall. Bigger than me. We have much to discuss.”
Dorae breathed deep and nodded, his crooked smile back in an instant. “Yes. Full of plans, you are. I suppose I’ll just have to be satisfied with my lot, and grateful you’ve come to help us in our lonely war. Come, get inside. My steward will see to your horses and take your things to a room. Then we’ll hear this plan of yours.”
He turned to one of the soldiers in his coterie. “Tald, arrange for Lord Ire’s men to be housed and fed, please.”
As they made their way through the keep, Emrael noticed that the entire building was lit by fully filled infusori coils.
“Dorae, I noticed that you have coils lighting much of the city. Why spend so much for lighting when you could use the infusori to buy food, weapons?”
Dorae gestured wildly at the city behind him. “Nobody to trade with after Barros and Lord Holder Syrtsan blockaded the river, Ire. The people need light. I have light. So I give them light.”
When they had handed their things to the waiting servants, Dorae led them to a room with a table for about a dozen.
Emrael, Elle, Jaina, Toravin, and Halrec all took seats on one side, Dorae and his advisors on the other. While introductions were made, servants brought food. Pheasants and sage hens, paired with potatoes, leeks, and a dark stout ale.
Dorae smirked at Emrael. “Not a meal befitting the esteemed company, but it’s what we have left. More than we have left, really. Most of the city is eating nothing but stored oats and barley. The other Holdings have refused to trade, as have Corrande and Barros, obviously.”
Elle perked up at talk of trade. “Tell me, my Lord Norta. Do you have seafaring ships?”
Dorae’s brows drew down; the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Yes … but I don’t have nearly enough to risk your father’s blockade, Lady Barros.”
Elle exchanged a look with Jaina and continued after the Ordenan woman nodded. “And if we can provide safe passage, or even have other merchant ships dock here? Can you trade copper or infusori for food?”
Dorae grew quiet, serious. Emrael thought his eyes might have shone with unshed tears, but that could have just been his imagination. “Girl, I can flood you with infusori. We can’t use the infusori fast enough, the Wells are practically shut down. We can’t trade it; merchants want nothing to do with the war here. We don’t have the Craftings to use it, none that will help us in our war, leastwise. My people are going to starve come winter.”
He looked from Emrael, to Jaina, back to Elle. “Can you really guarantee safe passage with your father? The ships we sailed didn’t even make it out of the river.”
“The Ordenan navy may be able to help,” Jaina interjected. “I can send for an emissary. It would be a small thing to protect your trading ships. Your captains will have to make it to the sound themselves, but Ordena has a significant interest in protecting free trade in open waters.”
She paused before adding, “The Ordenans, they may require payment, however. Infusori stores should suffice, but they may want an agreement for infusori trade well into the future.”
Emrael chuckled and shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. “There’s always an ‘agreement’ with you Ordenans. Let me guess, something like half of Whitehall’s infusori trade in perpetuity?”
Jaina shrugged, unperturbed. “Perhaps. I do not speak for the Ordenan Empire.”
“Fine, have the Ordenans come and we’ll negotiate a deal. Dorae, don’t agree to anything without me or Halrec here, you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” Dorae said, offering a mocking bow from his chair.
Emrael flushed, but didn’t apologize. “We will be well served to negotiate together.”
“Aye, makes fair sense, though I won’t wait for you if it means I can feed my people. Now, tell me about your plan to get these Watcher bastards off my back.”
Emrael stood to pace the room, finally stopping beside a map of Iraea that had been laid out on one end of the table. He leaned over Jaina’s shoulder, then thought better of it as she subtly feinted toward his groin with her elbow. Chuckling, he instead went to the empty foot of the table and pulled the map toward him.
He planted a finger on the Tarelle lands to the north of the Norta Holding. Tarelle and Norta were two of three Holdings that shared a border with Corrande, drawn directly down the spine of the northern Duskan mountain range. The third Holding, Paellar, occupied the northernmost portion of the border with the Corrande Province, and was the tightest in Corrande’s pocket.
“How many Watchers are in Larreburgh?”
“Probably a battalion or two, but you’ll have to pass Durran, and Raeic, and they’ll have a battalion each. And they can have more in Larreburgh with only a few days of warning. They’d have five thousand Watchers waiting for us, and Tarelle men besides.”
“I don’t mean to give them that much warning,” Emrael said. “We’ll have to cover the distance between here and Larreburgh more quickly than word can be sent ahead, then fight at the end of the trip. That means only the fittest and best outfitted come. I’ll take five thousand of our best and leave the rest here to bolster your defenses under Halrec’s command. I need Toravin to guide our scouts and make sure that we only have to fight two thousand once we get there, not five.”
He didn’t say it, but he was sure Dorae didn’t miss the other reason he was leaving Halrec to command the men from Emrael’s Legion instead of Toravin. Toravin had never given him any reason to doubt his loyalty, but he had left Voran in Sagmyn for the same reason. Both had a much longer history with Dorae than they did with him, and if either one decided to split from Emrael’s cause, a significant number of the Iraean men in the Ire Legion were likely to go with them. He liked Dorae well enough but wasn’t about to give him an opportunity to commandeer his followers. The man was unpredictable at best.
He needed time to solidify his power and reputation before he could trust any of them fully. Halrec was one he could trust, though they didn’t always see eye to eye. And of course Elle, and Ban. Always Ban. Jaina and his mother … he trusted them to a point, but knew that the Ordenan Empire had its hooks in them. Time would tell.
Dorae scratched his nose. “You take risks, Emrael. Risks that even I would not agree to, if I had any choice. Absent Gods know I hate Tarelle as much as anyone. He’s a rat like his father before him. The Tarelles and Paellars joined the Corrandes to oppose your grandfather in the War of Unification, and the current Lord Holder Tarelle sent men to support my father when Toravin and I raised our first rebellion. I’d happily gut the man. But are you certain the risk is justified? We need allies, not more enemies.”
“If we sit here in Whitehall, they will do the same as they have always done. We don’t have the resources or time to fight a war of attrition, not with Corrande and his Watchers knocking on your doorstep, to say nothing of Barros. Taking Tarelle will show the others they can’t ignore us and wait for the Watchers to deal with us.”
Dorae wagged his head back and forth, lips pursed. “Could work. Could get us killed. Like I said, we don’t have much choice, do we? We unite Iraea or we die.”
All eyes in the room turned to Emrael. Elle bit her lip. Halrec smiled only on one side of his face. Emrael knew that meant he felt deeply uncomfortable. Jaina showed no emotion.
Emrael placed his hands on the table and leaned down to look over the map that showed the seven Holdings of Iraea: Norta, Tarelle, Paellar, Ire, Raebren, Syrtsan, and Bayr. This map showed the Ire Holding, which was his by blood right, as a shattered shell of what it had been before the War of Unification, half-consumed by the vulturous Lords Holder that shared its borders, the remnant ruled by a steward appointed by the United Provinces.
The Iraean Lords Holder likely had little affection for him or his family. Less for Dorae after he overthrew his father. But they had to try. He raised his head. “If we summon the Lords for a Council, will they come?”
Dorae flashed his wicked grin once more. “If you tweak their pricks by capturing Tarelle? Probably.”
Emrael matched his grin. “Good.” He turned to the side of the table where his friends sat. “Toravin, have five battalions of our fittest companies ready to march in three days. We will travel light and fast. Jaina, please assign half of the Imperators in pairs to some of the companies staying here. We’ll take Timan and the other half north with us.”
He waited for Toravin and Jaina to nod before turning to Halrec. “Hal, the command of the remaining five thousand is yours—under Dorae’s direction, of course. When we have Larreburgh, you’ll escort a group of engineers to reinforce the defenses there and will take command of the city.”
They all nodded their assent, though Dorae’s manic grin ruined the moment somewhat.
There was a plan, and it might even work. It had to work. He could feel time working against him, could feel the seconds winding down before the Malithii played their hand again, bringing their soulbound and sanja’ahn to complicate an already precarious situation.
After the meeting, Emrael and the others were shown to their rooms by Dorae’s steward Domran, a short, hefty man with thick grey hair cut into a bowl that hung past his ears. The steward’s key ring jingled merrily as he chatted, telling them all about the years he had served the Norta family, and how Dorae, impulsive though he was, treated the Whitehall staff far more kindly than his father had. A solid indication that he had made a good ally.
Jaina was the first to be shown a room, then Halrec. Toravin had stayed behind to catch up with Dorae, so only Elle and Emrael were left, though one of Jaina’s Imperators assigned to guard him followed at a respectful distance.
In between the steward’s comments about each part of the keep they passed, Emrael tried to make conversation with Elle. Things had been odd, distant between them since they had quarreled in Myntar. She had not seemed very happy to see him when she arrived in Gadford, and certainly hadn’t been affectionate since.
“What do you think of the plan?” he asked tentatively.
Elle turned her head to meet his eyes briefly, her blond curls swirling about her head and neck. “I think it’s likely one of the best options left to you. You’re doing it again, though, you know.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to do it all yourself. Keeping secrets, even from your friends.”
Emrael was quiet as he processed what she said. “You’re right. But I don’t think I’m wrong to do it with most of them.”
She shook her head. “It’s not as simple as right and wrong. Your allies will react better to your propositions if they feel that they were a part of planning them. Or better, if they actually are a part of your planning. Otherwise, you’ve reduced everyone around you to servants taking orders. You don’t have nearly the strength or status needed for that to work long-term.”
He grunted his grudging acceptance. After a brief silence, he asked, “What do you think of the Iraean Lords Holder?”
Elle glanced at him sideways. “What do you have to offer that Corrande and the Watchers don’t?”
“Well … I can free them from Corrande’s reparation taxes, for one. If we are successful, there will be a lot more land and trade to go around, too. I mean, isn’t it obvious? They’ve lived under the Watchers for ages but they must remember what it was like to be a free kingdom.”
Elle nodded. “Make sure they know what you plan to offer them, even if it’s obvious to you. Have you given thought to what your tax rate would be, should you be made a governor … or a king? How exactly is your offer any better than Corrande’s? You must give them a reason to support you, to believe not only that you can win, but that you will make their lives better when you do. And to Lords—to most people—that usually means money. Or power.”
“I’m not a complete idiot,” he said defensively. “I have a plan.”
“You need to have more than a plan if you want to convince the Lords of Iraea. People don’t take kindly to being conquered.” She looked at him pointedly as she uttered that last sentence. “We’ve got Sagmyn under control—barely. And only because your mother has ties to Ordena that have given us a trade partner. The Merchants’ Guild there is placated for now, but we are far from having won the people’s hearts.”
“Dispersing Sagmynan Legionmen into existing Iraean squads helped too,” Emrael pointed out.
Abruptly, they both realized that the steward had fallen silent, and was undoubtedly filing away everything he had heard for gossip tomorrow. Domran glanced back at them and started when he saw Emrael and Elle both looking at him. “Don’t worry, Lord, Lady. Not a word from old Dom. Not that I heard anything, mind you.”
Emrael didn’t believe that for a minute but didn’t press further.
Old Dom stopped at a room with large double doors of polished wood. “Here you are, Lord, Lady. Lord Norta prepared a lovely suite for the two of you.”
Emrael looked at Elle, keeping his face still to hide the uncertainty roiling in his chest. “Come in to talk?”
Elle stared back, biting one lip, considering.
Emrael’s stomach dropped.
Dom obviously didn’t catch the mood, bustling through the now-open door to show them the grand suite. Sofas occupied a sitting room, and beyond waited a massive four-post bed. “This is the best room in the keep, save for Lord Norta’s rooms, of course. He had them reserved just for the two of you.”
Emrael looked at Elle again, eyebrows raised in a silent question. She had a hard gleam in her eye, but blushed and faltered, giving him some hope that things might return to normal between them. She didn’t take long to disabuse him of the notion, however.
“Master Domran, Lord Dorae must be confused. I’d like a suite of my own, if you would be so kind.”
Emrael smiled, trying to hide his disappointment. “I don’t need anything half this grand. You stay here, Elle. I’ll room somewhere else.”
He turned to leave with the steward, whose chin had nearly disappeared into his jowls as he grimaced with horrific embarrassment, but Elle stopped him.
“Wait,” she said suddenly. “We should talk, just a moment.”
Emrael turned back to the steward. “You can go, Dom. Thank you kindly for your help. I’ll find a room down near where Halrec is staying. There were plenty of empty rooms in that wing.”
Domran’s face brightened. “Why yes, that’s splendid. I’ll have a room readied just for you, Lord Ire. The room just this side of Lord Syrtsan’s. You won’t want for anything, I swear it.”
Emrael thanked him and finally managed to push him out the door. When he turned back, he found Elle sitting on one of the sofas, waiting for him with a small smile on her lips.
“I had a steward just like him, back in Naeran,” she said sadly.
Emrael approached slowly, dropped his sword belt in the corner, and took a seat on the opposite end of the same sofa. “Elle … I know you’re upset about how I handled things with your father…”
Elle pursed her lips, then scooted closer to lay a hand on his knee. “I … just don’t think you understand how you affect those around you. The secrecy, the cruelty … If you don’t work to win the hearts of those who have supported you, you’ll fail just as surely as if Corrande and the Malithii defeat you.”
Emrael looked at the ceiling and rubbed his hand across his stubbled face as he thought. “You’re right, of course. You’re almost always right. I’m trying, Elle. I don’t know that I’ll ever be what you seem to think I should be, but I’ll keep trying.”
She laughed and smiled sadly, settling back on the sofa. “You are doing well, when you’re assigning responsibilities you don’t care for, and when it’s someone you trust. Do you think Toravin and Dorae won’t catch on to you leaving your old friends to watch them? Do you think I don’t feel the same about your mother in Myntar? You want us to share your fate without sharing in the decisions.”
They sat in silence for a time, shoulder to shoulder. Finally, Emrael spoke, still staring at the ceiling. “I’m not leaving my mother in Myntar to watch you. You’re there to watch her. And Voran. I trust you, Elle.”
Elle shook her head, an slight tremor in her voice. “You barely let me negotiate with my own father, Em. I could have convinced him, given time.”
“You tried diplomacy and it didn’t work. Waiting would have meant more deaths and fewer options here in Iraea. I was wrong to lose my temper and to override you so quickly, Elle, but I can’t answer to you for every decision.”
She pressed her lips together and looked away as tears finally spilled from her eyes to wet her freckled cheeks.
When she stayed quiet, he clasped her hand gently. She turned her face up to look him in the eyes sadly. “Elle…” He leaned down to kiss her, but she turned her head. He planted a soft, brief kiss on her cheekbone.
She pushed back from him gently and looked at the floor. “I think I need some time to think, Em. We both need to focus on more important things. You obviously have your plans set here, and I need to stabilize the Sagmyn Province or we will have another war on our hands there too.”
“Elle,” he protested. “I want you to stay. My mother can handle herself a while longer. We can fight a war and still be human.”
“I hope so,” she said quietly, finally meeting his gaze. “I just need some time. I think you need to take some time to find yourself as well. It won’t be long.”
“I understand,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t going to beg her to stay. “Thank you for being … my friend. My ally.”
A tear rolled down Elle’s cheek, but she was silent.
He took another deep breath, stood, and cleared his throat. “Right. Let’s talk business, then. You’ll need to travel quickly and in a small party that knows the backroads to the West Pass. I’ll have Toravin arrange for the best to get you to Myntar safely.”
She frowned at him. “I’ve already arranged it.”
He risked a smile. “Great. Now for those plans you wanted to know about. I need Ban here as soon as possible, and I need all of the Crafters and equipment you can spare. Hire an Ordenan cruiser to transport them. Allocate as many resources to the Ladeskan shipbuilders as you can, and to buying any vessels the Ordenans will sell us. We need to open trade with the Free Cities and Ithans—”
“Emrael,” she cut him off. “I know. I’ve already got shipbuilders working, and your mother has already sent a messenger to Ordena asking for further trade agreements to be negotiated. And don’t worry, I won’t let them take advantage of us. I can do this. This is one of those times you need to trust me. I will see this through.”
“Thank you.” He squeezed her hand one last time, and after an awkward pause, left to find his room.